Views from the Tower (4 page)

Justin Donnell was asking me out for coffee? I hadn’t felt this out of sorts since, well ever.

“Yeah,” I finally managed. “I mean, yes, let’s go get coffee! But why would we walk when you have a car?”

Justin raised his eyebrows. “If you’re not my fairy godmother anymore won’t it just disappear, just poof away?”

“Uh, no? It’s not like the pumpkin, remember? It’s a real car with a real VIN number and a real registration with your name on it. I mean if you really don’t want it you could leave it unlocked somewhere and I’m sure it will be gone by morning.” I handed him back the key. “It’s yours whether or not I’m your fairy godmother anymore.”

He smiled and took my hand again. “Well, then, your carriage awaits. Let’s go grab that coffee and you can tell me all about your new career path.”

He opened the passenger door, and I hesitated. Fairy godmothers weren’t supposed to have wishes, but looking up into Justin’s smiling face, I knew that somehow, however unlikely it seemed, I was about to have mine granted.

“Thanks,” I said and climbed into the passenger seat.

In Her Service

Miss Lucinda Beacham was bored. She knew that as an eligible young woman experiencing her first season in London, she wasn’t supposed to be bored. She was supposed to find dancing the same dances, often with the same partners, over and over, night after night excessively diverting. She was also supposed to be excessively diverted by selecting gowns to dance in, discussing who had danced with whom, and more importantly who had not danced with whom, and speculating on what gentleman might call on her the next day. Lucinda found none of these topics diverting, excessively or otherwise.

She was five weeks into the season and she was bored stiff. When Lucinda got bored, she tended to get herself into the worst scrapes. It wasn’t that she went looking for trouble, she just went out looking for something that wasn’t boring. Unfortunately, that often turned out to be trouble. Her mother had lectured her at length about avoiding any hint of her propensity for disaster and striving to appear like the lady she was at all times. Due to her own diligence and her mother’s watchful eye, Lucinda had remained disaster-free for more weeks than even she could believe. She didn’t count the little incident in the park. Lady Beaumont’s annoying little terrier had been entirely to blame for that debacle.

At the moment, Lucinda’s plans for finding adventure were not very grand. The consisted merely of sidling her way around the crowded ballroom and through the glass doors that led out onto a large patio for a breath of fresh air. By herself. Away from the watchful eyes of her mother. Away from the suitors who were more interested in her father’s position than in her. Away from the gossipy whispers of her fellow debutants. If she could grasp five minutes out of the entire night just for herself, she would feel like she had won a small victory.

Lucinda kept a wary eye on her mother as she edged her way ever closer to the doors. She should be fine if she could get back before the next set started and whoever she was engaged to for the dance came looking to claim her hand. She didn’t bother to check her dance card to see which gentleman’s name was beside the dance. None of the gentlemen sparked her interest at all, so it did not really matter which name was next, it promised to be a dull exercise.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped out of the door and closed it quietly behind her. The air in London was nothing compared to the clean, crisp air at her father’s country estate, but it was still fresher than the inside of a ballroom. The patio was wide and blessedly empty, as was, it seemed, the large garden that sprawled out in front of it. Lucinda lifted her face up to the night sky. She wished more than anything to be back home, where no one cared about her occasional little mishap.

Lucinda stiffened as she heard the handle of the glass doors turning behind her. She didn’t want to be caught out here by herself. If it was her mother or one of her mother’s friends looking for her, she could be in serious trouble. If it was one of her suitors, she could be in even more trouble. Before she could order her jumbled thoughts, her feet started moving. She ran down the few steps into the large garden.

Stupid, stupid,
she silently berated herself. It would be infinitely worse to be caught alone in a darkened garden than on a well lit patio, but her feet didn’t seem interested in listening to reason. They fled, her dancing slippers making no sound, down one of the many pathways in the garden, into the darker recesses of the garden.

She could hear voices behind her—the lower rumble of a man’s voice, and the higher pitched laugh of a woman. It sounded as if they’d left the patio as well. Oh, wonderful! Had they decided the garden would be the perfect place for an assignation? Lucinda grimaced in frustration.

She could still hear the voices coming ever nearer; it felt like they were chasing her farther into the garden. So she skirted around the fountain in the center of the garden and headed for the darkest path, hoping to stay out of sight. The man’s voice was louder now, sounding urgent and almost angry. Lucinda paused, straining to hear. They weren’t moving toward her anymore; they must have stopped by the fountain. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, so she crept back the way she had come.

The man was definitely angry. He seemed to be repeating a question over and over, but Lucinda could only pick out a word here or there. The woman’s replies were more quiet and completely indecipherable. Both voices sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place them.

There was a bright flash of light. It caught Lucinda so off guard that she let out a squeak of surprise. She clapped her hand over her mouth as she furiously blinked in an attempt to dispel the colored shapes dancing across her vision.

There didn’t seem to be anyone left near the fountain. Lucinda glanced around furtively before walking around the fountain and back toward the path she’d originally started down. She heard a splash and jumped about half a foot in the air before whirling around. A frog sat on the edge of the fountain. Lucinda let out a small laugh. The frog seemed to glare at her and then croaked indignantly.

Lucinda almost laughed again. The frog looked shocked at its own croak, as if it had never heard itself before. She shook her head as she turned back toward the house. She was on a mission to return to the ballroom undetected, and no amphibious creature was going to slow her down.

“Lu-Lucinda!”

Lucinda froze, eyes darting back and forth. There was no one there! Who was calling her name? She took another tentative step toward the house and it came again, this time more clearly.

“Lucinda!”

She whirled around. The voice had sounded more familiar that time. The little clearing around the fountain was empty. There was no one here but her and the frog. Lucinda glared at it. She didn’t like the way it was looking at her, as if it somehow knew her.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Lucinda, it’s me!”

Lucinda stared at the frog in horror. Had she just imagined it, or had the creature moved its mouth? Was the voice coming from the frog? That was entirely impossible.
Maybe,
she thought pragmatically,
I am asleep. I am still in the ballroom and I have just nodded off from sheer boredom.
She pinched herself on the upper arm, just to make sure.

“Ouch!” She rubbed her arm. “There is no possible way a frog is talking to me.” 

“Yes, I am talking to you!”

The voice was familiar. Extremely familiar.

“Marcus?” she whispered in horror.

“Yes, it’s me.” The frog sounded relieved that she’d recognized him.

‘But...you’re a frog!”

“That fact has recently come to my attention.”

“Marcus—oh, I suppose I should call you Lord Sutton now—how are you a frog?”

“You’ve called me Marcus your whole life; no need to stand on formality just because my uncle saw fit to shuffle off this mortal coil and all that.”

Lucinda should have been shocked at the casual way that Marcus dismissed the old earl’s death but she couldn’t seem to muster up any actual shock. The fact that she was speaking to a frog that happened to be her brother’s best friend made everything else pale in comparison.

“I suppose it would be odd to stand on ceremony, seeing as I’ve known you since I was in the cradle. And you’re a frog. Which reminds me, you still haven’t explained that.” Lucinda arched an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve been cursed.” It was rather disconcerting to hear Marcus’s voice coming out of such a squat, slimy creature. He’d always been tall and broad-shouldered, even as a teenager. She’d followed him and her brother around her father’s estate, tagging after them, probably, she realized now, much like a little lost puppy. Marcus had always seemed like a hero of old to her with his waving blond hair and green eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed. When she was nine, she’d been convinced he was the second coming of King Arthur. Anyone less froglike she would be hard pressed to think of.

“Cursed?” she repeated dubiously.

“Yes, obviously there is some dark magic at work. She spat a curse at me, I fell into the fountain, and I came out as a frog.” Irritation flooded through Marcus’s voice, though whether it was directed at her or the woman who cursed him, Lucinda wasn’t sure.

“Up until a few moments ago I would have said there’s no such thing as magic, but yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” he replied rather grimly.

“Fascinating.” She stared at him, absentmindedly taping her chin.

“Lucinda, stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to pin me to paper and examine me under your magnifying glass like you did with all those unfortunate butterflies.”

“Don’t be silly Marcus, I could never pin a specimen your size to a paper. Not that I would,” she hastened to add when he made a strange, strangled-sounding noise.

“I find that quite reassuring,” he muttered.

There was silence for a moment. Lucinda continued staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Well?” she finally prompted.

“Well, what?”

“Who is this mystery woman that’s cursed you. If we’re going to figure out how to un-frog you, the most logical place to start would be with the person who cast the curse.”

“I agree it makes the most logical sense. The situation is...a bit delicate, however...”

“You’re an amphibian. Surely, however ‘delicate’ the situation is, the most important thing is to get you restored to normal.” She narrowed her eyes even further when he didn’t respond. “You must know who it was; you were out in the garden with her, which suggests a certain familiarity. Unless...Oh Marcus, tell me you didn’t come out into the garden with a young miss. You must know better.” She burst out in laughter. “Are you that afraid you will be forced to marry her? I suppose if you remained a frog for the rest of your earthly life you could avoid marriage. But just think what a grave disappointment that would be to all of the women you bed.”

“Lucinda Beacham!” Marcus croaked. “You shouldn’t say such things. You shouldn’t even know about such things! Does your brother know you talk like this?”

“Of course not. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I am deaf or stupid. Now, are you going to tell me who it was?”

“Lady Beaumont.”

“Ah, Julia Beaumont...I can’t think what the ‘delicate situation’ would be, she is widowed and quite...how shall I put this nicely?...liberal with her favors.”

“This is a very inappropriate conversation, Lucinda. I feel as your eldest brother’s friend I must stand in his stead and protest your lack of propriety—”

“Shh, I’m thinking. Lady Beaumont, she of the annoying terrier, why would—” Lucinda broke off, her mouth gaping open in surprise. “Marcus Sutton, are you a spy?!”

Marcus jumped, at least six inches straight up in the air, at her words. She was afraid for a moment that he was going to splash right back into the fountain, but he managed to land back on the stone edge.

“Lower your voice!” he croaked at her, his head turning this way and that, as if to make sure no one had heard her. There were completely alone in the garden, a fact, Lucinda thought with a bit of smile, that probably should have occurred to him when he questioned her propriety. Although, if anyone came upon them, they would more likely be concerned with the fact that Lucinda was talking to a frog than the possibility that said frog had compromised her.

“Your reaction is all the answer I need,” she informed Marcus. “You are not very good at hiding your emotions. However do you manage to work for the Home Office? I’d think better acting skills would be required.”

“Well, I’ve never been made quite so easily by a sixteen year old.” He sounded a bit angry.

“Seventeen,” she corrected.

“How could you possibly have figured it out?”

“Really, Marcus, it wasn’t that difficult. Lady Beaumont is obviously selling something to the French; whether it’s information or goods, I’m not sure. Probably information, as her late husband was a diplomat. You were obviously angry as you questioned her; you must have discovered she was a traitor. And then she cursed you. I admit, the magic thing I didn’t see coming, but the traitor bit was relatively easy to make out.”